


After the Rain Fell

by Loracine



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, M/M, Non-Explicit, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-18
Updated: 2018-04-18
Packaged: 2019-04-24 16:41:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14359440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loracine/pseuds/Loracine
Summary: Cas comes back to the bunker and finds that something has happened to Sam and Dean while he was away. Or, rather, something has happened between them and it didn’t turn out well.





	After the Rain Fell

**Author's Note:**

> Wincest & J2 Writing Challenge April 2018  
> loracine vs cinnamonanddean  
> Prompt: first time having sex

By the time Cas found him, Dean was already deep into his drink. The angel had no idea how long the human had been in his current state, but it looked to be have been at least a couple hours. He was slumped in the wide leather armchair with an open bottle in his hand and a handful more scattered empty on the floor around him. His eyes were red-rimmed and glistening, but the angel could see tracks where tears had dried on his face. Dean, not having noticed that he was no longer alone in the room, lifted the bottle to his lips and took a long swallow.

A song was playing on the stereo, the singer's sorrowful croon spoke of an aching sadness deep down to the bones. It was as beautiful as it was heartbreaking.

_Somebody, can you tell me just what make a man feel this way?_   
_Like river without its water, like night without a day._   
_And it sure 'nuff got cold after the rain fell,_   
_not from the sky but from my eye._

"Dean," Cas finally said.

Dean barely twitched, just stared into the empty room like there was something incredibly interesting about the wall in front of him, though it was smooth and unadorned.

"Dean," the angel repeated.

The hunter noticed him then, turning his haunted gaze up to Cas's face. The angel saw grief, soul deep, on his face.

Cas spoke softer, gentler when he asked, "What happened?" When he'd last checked on them, the brothers had been good. The two had seemed almost happy as they spent the time together in the bunker in between hunts. "Is Sam hurt," he wondered, looking about for signs of an injured younger Winchester and finding none.

Dean averted his gaze, suddenly finding nothing at all very interesting once more. "Um, no. Sam. He's fine," he replied. His mouth twisted when he said his brother's name like he'd tasted something foul.

Cas was confused. There was little else he could think of that would leave the older hunter in such a state. "Then, what happened," he pressed.

Dean didn't answer. He just drained the last of his beer and pulled a fresh bottle from the six-pack by his feet. They were lukewarm, but at this point, he really didn't give a damn. He was barely tasting anything anymore. The honey-brown liquid was sliding past his taste buds and down his throat in one big gulp every time. He wasn't drinking for the taste, not this time.

Celestial beings are thought to have an infinite supply of patience. That didn't mean Cas couldn't go looking for answers on his own. The hunter wasn't being all that forthcoming and likely wouldn't for some time now, considering his state of mind. Cas headed for the library first, expecting to find the younger Winchester with his nose buried deep in some musty old tome. When he got there, the library was empty. The books were all arranged neatly on the shelves and the tables were clear. Next, he checked the gun range, finding it in much the same condition as the library. There was no indication that the lanes had been used recently. He stuck his head into the big shower room on his way to the bedrooms, finding the floor dry and the mirrors fog-free.

The only untidy places in the bunker were the bit of floor where Dean had been drinking and the hallway leading to their bedrooms. Cas nudged a discarded shirt with his foot. It was one of Sam's, a plain blue tee he often wore underneath his flannels. It wasn't like the younger hunter to just leave dirty laundry lying about, especially not on the floor outside of his bedroom. Cas was even more puzzled by one of Dean's shirts tossed right next to it, inside out.

Sam's bedroom door was closed and Cas couldn't hear the sounds of movement coming from inside the room. He knocked. Dean was insensible in his current state and he hoped the younger man was sober enough to let him know what was going on. There was no answer, no shuffle of feet or snuffle from a sleeping occupant. The room was empty. He didn't need to open the door to know that. He did, though. Cas turned the knob and pushed the door open. The room was a mess. A pair of jeans had been puddled at the foot of the bed with a pair of shoes dropped in front of them. The blankets and sheets were half on and half off the bed, twisted.

Cas knew that he wouldn't get anything useful out of Dean until he sobered. It was obvious Sam was no longer in the bunker. Instead, he returned to where Dean was polishing off his second beer from a fresh six-pack.

Dean looked up at him and snorted. "Who killed your goldfish," he asked.

Cas scooped the remaining four beers before Dean could stop him and said, "I do not have a goldfish, Dean." He figured that the hunter had been using one of those human idioms again, but since he hadn't heard that particular phrase before, he had no idea what it could mean. Dean mumbled something as Cas headed for the kitchen.

When he returned with a tall glass of water instead of the beer, Dean scowled, looking more disappointed than upset. He didn't say anything, though, choosing instead to ignore Cas entirely unless forced otherwise. He even drank the entire glass of water without acknowledging the angel.

Cas knew that he needed to be patient. Neither Winchester shared easily, especially not when things seemed to be so fresh, so raw. So, he left the hunter slumped in the chair with the water within easy reach and the TV volume on low. The dishes in the kitchen sink looked to be a few days old and Cas still remembered enough about his times as a human to appreciate the virtues of a kitchen cleaned by someone else. He left his trench coat hanging on a chair and pushed his sleeves up to his elbows.

He was deep into cleaning a thoroughly soiled casserole dish when Dean's rough voice broke the quiet. "It's all my fault," he said.

Cas didn't say anything at first, worried that Dean would clam up if he drew attention to himself. He put a little extra elbow grease into scraping the baked-on cheese from the tempered glass, keeping his back turned.

He had just set down the casserole dish to dry and picked up a cereal bowl with congealed oatmeal in it when Dean spoke again. His voice hadn't improved. He still sounded wrecked. "Not gonna argue," he asked.

"Since I have no idea what has occurred, I am unable to form an opinion," Cas replied.

He heard Dean open a cabinet and take to two plates. Then there was the clink of the silverware drawer. The distinctive sound of the fridge door opening and then closing was followed by the crack of a plastic container. Dean started eating his piece of the blueberry pie before he said anything more. In fact, he finished his own piece and was pulling Cas's towards himself when he finally asked, "Can you find Sam?"

Cas set the mug on the drying rack, feeling a sense of accomplishment. The sink was empty and all of the dishes were now sparkling clean. "What happened between you two," he prodded as he sat down in the chair opposite Dean. There was one piece left in the pie tin and he reached for the spoon as he pulled it within reach. The sweetness exploded on his tongue as he chewed, making him thankful that there was at least one perk to being so low on his grace. He could enjoy food again.

"He doesn't have to come back. I just need to know he's okay," Dean deflected. He'd finished the second piece of pie and was now pushing crumbs around on the plate.

Sam was doing his best imitation of his big brother's poor coping techniques when Castiel finally found him. Despite his size, though, he'd never been able to handle quite as much liquor. So, there was only five or six upside down shot glasses neatly lined up in front of him instead of a half dozen or so. He was doing a pretty good job of intimidating anyone that got within ten feet of him, hazel eyes glaring balefully from behind long strands of hair. He'd cleared a ring around his barstool and people were walking in a wide path to avoid getting too close.

The bartender looked almost hopeful when Cas was able to sit down next to Sam without getting much of a reaction out of him.

Cas ordered a beer, not caring what type, and hoped his friend would eventually tell him what was going on. Dean hadn't been any help at all.

The bartender had handed him a second bottle and retreated to the other end of the bar when Sam finally decided to stop ignoring the angel. He didn't ask how Cas had found him. That would have been a stupid question. "Are you sticking around," he asked, his voice sounding almost small.

"I have a few days," Cas replied.

Sam scoffed, "How long will it be then?"

"Why are you here," he asked instead of answering. He honestly had no idea how long he would be gone the next time and he knew how terrible he was at lying. He wasn't even going to make an attempt.

"What does it look like, Cas? I'm drinking. That is what you do in a bar," Sam told him.

The problem was, Cas had searched every bar in the near vicinity of the bunker. Then he'd moved on to neighboring counties. The one they were in happened to be a several hours drive out from the bunker. He watched Sam order and then down another shot, keeping his inebriation at a steady simmer, right where he wanted to stay.

Sam could do without the angel on his shoulder. Cas was a reminder he'd rather not have sitting next to him. He needed time to think.

"Sam," Cas prodded.

"Sam," he repeated after a moment of silence. "What did Dean do?"

Sam set down the chaser he'd ordered, something to keep him hydrated, and asked, "What?" Of all the things... "What makes you think Dean did anything?"

"Because he told me," he answered without hesitation.

Sam chuckled, a dry sound that had nothing to do with humor. "He would think that," he replied. "Dean didn't do anything I didn't want," he added.

It wasn't much of an answer and Cas was no closer to puzzling out this problem than he'd started. "I don't understand," he finally admitted.

Sam threw down enough money to cover their tab and stood. "C'mon," he said, "We'll talk on the way back." The angel wasn't going to leave this alone, like a damned junkyard dog with a bone when he caught the scent of something. Strife between the brothers was especially vexing to the featherbrain and, since Sam was the more talkative of the two, Cas wasn't going to drop the subject until he talked.

Cas had brought his pimp-mobile, as Dean had once called it. Since Sam had stolen the car he'd parked in the lot, they both climbed into the gold monstrosity for the drive home. Sam, out of habit, had taken the passenger seat, leaving Cas to drive them back to the bunker. As expected, the angel set off at a sedate pace. There would be plenty of time to get it all out. Great.

Problem was, Sam wanted to talk, and eventually, he did. He started with a simple explanation, "We've never really done anything before."

Cas listened.

Sam sighed, "I've wanted to." He looked out at the night, watching the trees fly by on the side of the road. "I didn't want to lose my brother. So, I did nothing. For so long," he admitted.

Cas didn't interrupt. He was finally getting something.

Sam was silent for a few minutes, unsure how to proceed. He wasn't even sure what he was feeling, much less how to tell an emotionally stunted angel in a way that he would understand. Then he started feeling guilty for underestimating his friend. "Dean and I never actually had sex before" he explained, hoping that his bluntness would save him from having to expand further.

"So, you and Dean had sex," Cas said. It was the first thing he'd said since they started driving. "I don't see the problem," he said with typical Cas cluelessness.

"Dean is my brother," Sam replied emphatically, like that one fact would make the entire situation clear.

A crease developed between Cas's eyebrows. He looked confused.

Dean often compared the angel to a cat because of how stealthy he could be, appearing seemingly out of nowhere even though he couldn't use his wings at the moment. Sam didn't agree. To him, Cas was more like a crow. Extremely intelligent and, at the same time, utterly alien to the human condition. How do you describe to a crow the subtle nuances of a cultural taboo like incest? The simple answer was, you can't. Not really. There were too many differences in the species to get his point across adequately, especially since Cas's entire species consisted of his brothers and sisters. He decided not to try and went for the shortcut instead. He really wasn't in the mood to give a history lesson in human morality. "It's called incest, Cas. It's wrong," he said.

"The concept of incest was created in response to the increased incidence of genetic mutations and disease in the offspring arising from pairings between individuals with close familial relations," Cas replied. "Since the likelihood of two males creating offspring is near zero without female assistance, the pairing is neither true incest nor a sin."

Sam choked on a laugh and tried to cover it with a cough. "Near zero?"

Cas smirked then, the little shit, and replied, "Nothing is ever truly impossible. Just improbable."

"No shit," Sam said amused. "So... Not a sin? Where do you get that?"

"Father values love in its many forms," Cas said cryptically. "Your bible barely resembles His words as they were first written. So much has been lost, twisted, or written over."

Sam ran a hand through his hair, thinking. Judging by their current speed and the name of the last town they had passed through, Sam figured it would be another twenty minutes or so until the bunker was in sight. For so much of his life, Sam had been the more devout of the two brothers. He had believed when his brother had lost faith. Or maybe, Dean just never had it when they were growing up. Regardless, he had used the Bible as an instruction manual for demons and Sam had seen something more in its pages. It had been difficult for him to abandon the Christian dogma. He thought he had, but, apparently, there were still a few things he was holding onto. Incest. Not a biblical sin, but a genetic one.

"Dean is very worried about you," Cas told him.

Sam suddenly felt very guilty. "I kinda left in a hurry," he admitted. No, he definitely had left in a hurry, more like a dead run, and he hadn't told his brother anything. He patted his pockets. He wasn't even carrying his phone, must have left it behind in his rush to get out of there. "What should I do," he asked in a small voice. The alcohol was beginning to wear off, leaving him with some uncomfortable feelings to sort through. Was Dean mad at him?

The advice Cas gave him was not helpful. Not at all. "Talk to him," he said.

Sure, that would work. Not.

The shape of the old power station loomed in the distance. They were almost home and Sam was no more certain about what he wanted to say to his brother than when he'd left. Cas was right, though, he had to say something. He'd broken them and he had to fix them.

He found Dean slumped, barely conscious in one of the big stuffed chairs. Amber colored glass shards from a broken bottle of whiskey were scattered on the floor and Sam stepped carefully around the drying puddle of liquor until he was in front of the older man. "Dean," he said.

Dean made a small hurt sound when he opened his eyes. It looked like his eyes weren't focusing properly and he was having trouble sitting up by himself. There would be no talking tonight, not until he sobered up at least a little.

Thankfully, Sam was no longer feeling the effects of his own consumption. He hauled his brother to the showers, and, with a finger down his throat, coaxed him to expel a good portion of the whiskey he'd drank before it left his stomach. Then, it was on to a shower where Sam got both of them clean, dry, and dressed in soft sleep pants.

Cas cleaned the mess Dean had made in the other room, bidding them both goodnight before he left. He would be back tomorrow but thought that his presence might hinder any progress the two brothers would have made otherwise. He didn't tell them that he slept in his car parked on the side of the road a couple miles away, not until much later.

That tight feeling in Sam's chest didn't ease until they were together in bed. Dean was on his side in case anything happened and Sam was cuddled up behind him. Dean's head was pillowed on his arm and Sam's other arm was wrapped around him, pulling him in close. He was sleeping now, breaths slow and even against Sam's palm. Even in his sleep, he had reached for the younger man, legs tangled together and his fingers splayed on top of Sam's resting over his heart. Sam had almost thrown this away, and he would have never forgiven himself. He doubted he'd get any sleep at all tonight.

"I'm sorry," he whispered into Dean's hair. "I'm going to fix this," he promised.

**Author's Note:**

> The song that Dean is listening to in the beginning is called Sure Got Cold After The Rain Fell by ZZ Top.


End file.
